Straight or Curly?
by lilsherlockian1975
Summary: Molly makes a discovery while staying at 221B 'for her safety' that leads her to her own deductions. Because she far too kind for her own good, she decides to try to get Sherlock to open up to her. Oh, he reveals a secret alright (more than one, actually) just not what she was expecting. Warnings inside.
1. Chapter 1

_I finally managed to keep my attention on one thing long enough to write a chapter story... I'm so proud (LOL!) Heed the rating. There will conversations about homosexuality and hair care products. Naughty language and sexy times._

 _The unbelievable MrsMCrieff betaed and Brit picked this story. She is truly one of the best friends I've ever had. She has been remarkably encouraging to me (especially in my recent slump) sending me daily reminders that she needs a 'Lil Story'! So this is for her!_

 _She's not the only one though, thank you to everyone who's been checking on me, asking for more stories and generally being wonderful. I love you all._

 _Now for the business: I own nothing including the lines I borrowed from The Great Game and the location I borrowed from ASiP. (I don't think Mark would mind, he and I have an understanding... sigh)  
_

 _Enjoy ~Lil~  
_

* * *

Molly sighed as she undressed in the bathroom of 221B. She was alone for the first time since her ex boyfriend's (as Sherlock so affectionately referred to him) face had flashed across all the screens in the greater London area. _When did this become my life_ , she wondered. Then promptly answered herself: _Oh yes, the day Sherlock Holmes sauntered into my morgue seven years ago_. She sighed again as she realised that she didn't have any toiletries and would be forced to use whatever Sherlock had available.

Molly was frugal, not cheap... just thrifty. But when it came to her hair, she splurged. She used slightly expensive salon products. Molly wasn't overly fond of most of her features. She knew she had thin lips (no, she didn't need Sherlock to point that out) and yes her breasts were small, but _she_ was small. She laughed when she considered how funny she'd look with large breasts, immediately thinking of her cousin Jessica who had gotten implants and immediately regretted them. The poor girl always looked like she was about to tip over. However, she was quite proud of her hair. It was thick and soft and so shiny. She took very good care of it. And frankly having to use some unknown products (even only once, since she was promised all of her essentials by morning) didn't make this maddening day any better. She was also concerned that Sherlock wouldn't have any conditioner (something she simply couldn't do without). She was planning on just waiting to wash her hair.

When she got into the shower, however, she not only found conditioner, but _expensive_ conditioner as well as accompanying shampoo and... _hair mask_? "Good Lord!" Molly said out loud staring at the beautiful amber coloured bottles. She was familiar with the brands and the fact that they cost at least twice as much as hers.

Molly shrugged, deciding she'd enjoy the pricey products and try to salvage the day, somehow. After the high-handed treatment she'd endured from a certain consulting detective, she deserved it.

Once she finished showering, she toweled off and started looking for the 'extra' toothbrush Sherlock had promised he had 'somewhere in there' (his words). She looked under the sink first... nothing. Then she check behind the mirror. What she found took her breath away. Sherlock not only had 'shower' products for his hair, but from the looks of it, the entire line. He had frizz reducer and curl manager as well as pomade and... _Ultra-_ _Moisturising,_ _Leave-in Conditioner? What the hell,_ Molly thought. _This man has more hair care products than I do!_ That's when a memory slammed into her at full force.

" _What do you mean gay? We're together!" She had tried to defend._

 _Could he let it go..? No, of course not! "And domestic bliss must suit you Molly. You've put on three pounds since I last saw you."_

And then...

" _With that level of personal grooming?" Sherlock scoffed._

 _Poor John, he tried... "Because he puts product in his hair? I put product in my hair."_

" _You wash your hair, there's a difference."_

Molly shook herself out of the memory as she continued to look over Sherlock's hair care inventory; which, if she were honest, made her a bit jealous. She finally found the elusive extra toothbrush, and was quite relieved to find it still in the packaging. She brushed her teeth then got dressed in the clothes Sherlock had provided. They were enormous but comfortable.

She found Sherlock sitting in his chair tapping away at his laptop. "Well, I'm off to bed," she said as she passed through the sitting room. He grunted in response. "Ah, I'll be allowed to go to work tomorrow... I assume."

He glanced up at her for a split second. "I don't think that's a good idea, Molly. However, I will allow it as soon as I have a better handle on this... situation."

She wasn't pleased with his answer, not even a little. But decided to pick her battles and discuss it with him later. Frankly she was too tired to fight with this insufferable man.

* * *

Over the next few days she and Sherlock argued about when she could safely return to Barts. She tried not to put undue stress on the detective, but she had a life and a job that she rather enjoyed; she simply wasn't content sitting around a flat all day. When Sherlock left she was alone in the flat so, she'd asked, why was she any safer at Baker Street than the hospital? _Too many variables!_ He'd argue when she stated these facts. _Too many entrances! Too many people!_ Then, _then_ he pulled out the big guns: _Please Molly, I can't do this if I think you're in danger._ Soft spoken, pleading eyes... all of his old tricks. She caved, but had a time line in mind of just how long she would put up with this nonsense.

Unfortunately, being left alone gave her a lot of time to think.

A week later she found she was STILL thinking about the contents of Sherlock's bathroom and _that_ conversation about Jim from IT. _'...that level of personal grooming?'_ She heard his words once again. Then of course there were his bespoke suits. He always looked like he had just come from a photo shoot for _GQ_. Well, that wasn't exactly true. She'd seen him sitting around the house in natty lounge clothes and a slight stubble in recent days. And of course there was that time with the drugs. _How does Sherlock delete memories_ _,_ she wondered.

Perhaps it all made sense. Molly had long given up hope of some kind of romantic relationship with the man, but now she wondered if the reason was his orientation instead of general disinterest due to the Work.

Sitting rereading one of her favorite novels she paused and remembered talking to John about Janine. He'd evidently believed Sherlock, for a moment, before the detective revealed his actual purpose for dating that poor woman. _So, if Sherlock is gay_ , she thought. _That would mean that even his best friend wasn't aware._ This led Molly down a very depressing path. She suddenly felt an incredible sadness for Sherlock; not even able to be himself with John Watson, of all people. Molly worried her lip as she considered the situation and what if anything she should do.

Several hours later Sherlock finally came barging up the steps in a full blown rage. "I can't keep looking if there's nothing to be found!" he roared causing Toby to jump up from his position on the other end of the settee and retreat to John's chair.

Molly immediately stood up. "W-what do you mean?"

Sherlock looked up surprised, as if he'd forgotten that she would be there. "Oh, I... there's no evidence whatsoever that this is anything more than an elaborate hoax."

"If you're still so certain that it's not Moriarty, then why am I still here?"

Sherlock who had be busy pacing around the room, suddenly stopped and squared on her. "Because what if I'm w-wrong? Or what if it's someone from the network that I missed." He looked away and shook his head. "Not worth the risk."

Molly was shocked to hear Sherlock admit that he could be wrong about... well, anything. Though she hadn't missed him stuttering over the word as if it was almost painful to consider. "Tea! I'll make you some tea and then you can talk over what you've got so far." She started toward the kitchen.

Sherlock flopped down on the settee. "Fine! But it's little to nothing!"

Molly made their tea and grabbed some biscuits as well, knowing he'd not eaten in her presence in at least 48 hours. She also knew, from past experience, that he'd nibble on just about anything she put in front of him, even when on a case if she kept him distracted enough. "Okay, let's hear it." She was standing with her hands on her hips looking down at the disgruntled man.

He sat up and motioned to the settee. "Sit, I can't concentrate when you're looming."

"I wasn't looming."

"Yes, you were!"

After that they finally settled in and Sherlock went over the smattering of information he had so far, which was indeed very little. He finished his tea then jumped up from the settee to fetch his laptop.

"I've been checking my blog..." he said as he sat back down and opened the device.

"You still keep that up?" Molly interrupted.

Sherlock looked slightly offended. "Of course I do. As I was saying, I've been checking my blog to see if this impostor, because I'm convinced that's what we're dealing with, has sent me a message." He pulled up the site, then deflated even further. "Nothing," he sighed."

Molly laughed."I should delete my old blog," she said absentmindedly." Then she turned to him, he was looking at her. "What?"

He shook his head. "Nothing."

 _Odd,_ she thought. "I'm sure they'll contact you when they're ready." Molly patted his arm.

Sherlock grunted as she picked up a book and resumed reading. Sherlock didn't get up, he just stayed on the other end of the sofa... thinking, if Molly had to guess. She was doing a bit of thinking, herself back to her deductions about Sherlock and his sexuality. The more she thought the more she wanted to talk to him.

Her second night at Baker Street Sherlock had sat her down and given her a shed load of information about what had transpired over the last six months. He told her about the man he had killed to save two people very close to him (not mentioning names, as if he had to; she knew exactly who he was talking about.). He told her that he was on his way to exile and most likely death, when the broadcast called him back. That explained the strange phone call she'd received from the man on New Year's Eve, saying goodbye and asking her to take care of herself. After the conversation, he seemed as if a weight was suddenly lifted off of his shoulders, she wanted to do that for him again. She knew this probably wasn't the best time, but when _was_ a good time? He was always in the middle of something. Finally she put her book down.

"Sherlock, can I talk to you about something unrelated to the case for a minute?" she asked her voice stronger than she felt.

He turned to her, looked her over for a moment then spoke, "Fine." He sighed. "Perhaps it will help me clear my head."

She smiled. "Good. So, you know you can trust me... right?"

He nodded. "Of course."

"And if you ever felt like you wanted to talk about something- something personal, I'd be more than happy to listen. Even if you think it might make me uncomfortable. I assure you it wouldn't."

Sherlock appeared to be listening, processing Molly's words. "O-kay," he said cautiously.

Molly took a breath, feeling like the conversation was going well so far. "So, for instance..." She thought for moment. "Well, if you needed to get something off of your chest, like a secret, you could tell... me. I know you felt better telling me about what happened with Magnussen, didn't you?"

Though that hadn't been the most comfortable conversation, Molly had appreciated the fact that Sherlock trusted her enough to explain the situation to her. It seemed very important for him to make her understand his reasons, his motivation for his actions. He had been almost vulnerable and pained in his explanation. She listened and in the end they had shared a brief hug. Molly cherished the moment, she knew she always would.

Sherlock's head was motionless, but his eyes darted all over Molly. Finally after thirty seconds or so he tilted his head to the left and studied her a bit more. "I... suppose... so," he said, slowly. "Yes."

"All right, so you know you can trust me and that sharing a secret- a burden, will help you. Is there anything, anything at all that you'd like to tell me. Perhaps something that you've never been able to share with anyone else? Even... John?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and gave Molly an appraising glare. "Right, what is it that you think you've discovered that leads you to believe that I'm gay?"

Molly jumped at his harsh tone. "Um... well... it's just..."

Sherlock shook his head and chuckled. "What Molly? What brought this about?"

There was something in the tone of his voice, was it disappointment? Molly suddenly felt panicky and hurt. She quickly stood up and started pacing, much like Sherlock had been when he'd first arrived home. "Well, it-it was your... your hair-care products." It was of course much more than that, but she was freaking out a little bit.

"My what?" Sherlock nearly shouted.

"Your shampoo, your pomade... your _Ultra_ _Moisturising_ _Leave-in Conditioner!"_ she shot back.

Sherlock stared at her as if he was missing the point entirely.

She held up both her index and middle fingers making quote marks. "That level of personal grooming." She put her hands on her hips. "Ring a bell?"

Sherlock looked away, he seemed to be concentrating. Then he closed his eyes, actually squinting for a few moments. Suddenly he opened his eyes and said, "'Jim from IT'!"

"Yes!" Molly exclaimed.

Sherlock stood up and crossed over to her giving her a bemused look. "Deductions really aren't your area, Molly." He then continued on to his bedroom.

"Don't look at me like that," Molly said to Toby who was still curled up in John's chair.

* * *

 _Okay, there's chapter one! Please talk to me, tell me what you think!_

 _I should say I mean no disrespect to anyone with breast implants. I have absolutely no issues with them whatsoever._

 _The story is written, updates should be quick. Drop me a review. Thanks for reading. ~Lil~_


	2. Chapter 2

_So, here's chapter two! Thank you all for the support. It means the world to me. Also to the guests who reviewed, thank you! I wish I could reply! : )_

 _Once again the lovely and talented MrsMCrieff betaed and Brit picked._

 _I still own nothing. (Though I do have something in common with Sherlock in this chapter... I'll explain in the end notes.)_

* * *

Molly had tossed and turned half the night wondering if she'd offended Sherlock - if she'd hurt his feelings (because she was convinced he indeed had feelings, even though he attempted to hide them at all cost) - or if he simply thought she was a complete idiot. Had she upset him because she was so far off the mark or spot on? Or because she had tried to talk to him about something so personal in the middle of an important investigation? Finally she fell into a fitful sleep sometime after 2am. She had heard him downstairs for a while, then it sounded like he had left the flat at some point.

She woke up and looked at her phone. _Oh great, it's 9.45, Toby will be properly pissed._ She made her way downstairs to find the grumpy feline, hoping that Sherlock was out searching for more leads. What she found, well...

Sherlock was sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee, nothing abnormal about that... except... except...

"Sherlock, what in God's name is wrong with your hair?" she asked as she moved around the detective to get a better look at his head, her anxiety suddenly forgotten. Where she normally saw beautiful, soft, bouncy curls, she only saw a mass of straw-like frizz. It was like something out of a bad 70's film. The man looked like Bob Ross's evil twin.

"Ah, good morning Molly. You are quite lucky I had nothing to do this morning. I fed Tobias. No telling what he would have gotten into, what with you sleeping in so late." He smiled and took another drink, acting as if it was completely normal for him to look like an extra from Starsky and Hutch.

"Um, thank you? Really though, what did you do? Oh God, did you electrocute yourself?"

He stood up and chuckled as he walked to the coffee maker, pouring Molly a cup. "No Molly, this isn't the result of an electrocution." He added some milk then handed her it to her. "Here you go. It's a demonstration, of sorts."

Molly took the coffee and stared in disbelief. "Your hair... is a demonstration?"

Sherlock leant against the counter folding his arms across his chest, his legs casually crossed at his ankles. "Yes."

"Care to elaborate?" Molly asked, still dumbfounded.

"I don't care if people think I'm gay, straight, or that I have a penchant for polar bears dressed in purple tutus. I couldn't care less. The press has speculated for years as to my relationship with John. And of course Mrs. Hudson has her own opinion about that as well. She still makes her sideways comments and she was present for his nuptials with Mrs. Watson. Did I seem remotely affected by the false stories Janine sold to the tabloids?"

Molly shook her head.

"So you see, I don't care what the general public or even those closest to me think they know about my private life, specifically my sexuality. However, given your faulty deduction last evening, I felt it necessary to explain why I am in possession of so many hair care products. This," he pointed at the puffy, brown mess atop his head. "Is what happens if I don't use said products."

"Are you trying to tell me that I was wrong?"

He smiled and nodded.

Molly thought for a moment. "If you don't care what people think about your sexuality, then why tell me?"

Sherlock uncrossed his legs and pushed off of the counter. He slowly approached her, stopping about two feet away. "Why, Molly, do you suppose that I would care that you, out of every other person on this planet, are aware of my sexual preference?"

Molly's mind raced as she thought about it, yet no matter what she came up with only one possibility seemed to fit. _But no... just... just no._ She had every intention of calling him on his bluff- because it had to be a bluff... it had to be... well, something! He was having her on for her, okay, admittedly poor deduction. But when she opened her mouth to speak all she could say was, "Nooooo!"

Then he grinned. Grinned! And nodded his head. "Actually, yes. I'm glad you figured this one out correctly."

Finally getting a hold of herself (it required looking away from the detective and his, frankly, ridiculous hair) she managed to find her words. "Sherlock, I'm sorry okay," she said as put down her coffee then turned and walked to out of the kitchen and put some distance between herself and the frizzy haired man, but unfortunately, he followed her. "I wasn't making fun of you," she said as she turned around. "I was sincerely trying to get you to open up, talk to me. I honestly thought I'd stumbled upon some secret of yours..."

"Oh, you did," he interrupted. "A very select few know about this." He motioned to his hair once again. "John found out whilst on a case. Shouldn't have been an over-night situation, I wasn't prepared. My one and only dorm mate at Uni has been paid off... twice. _The wanker_ ," he said under his breath. "My parents know, of course. Mummy spent a small fortune trying to tame my tresses as I was growing up. And you don't want to know the things I've had to do to secure Mycroft's silence." He was looking off in the distance, a scowl on his face. He turned back to her, shaking his head at the memory. "There you have it; my deepest, darkest secret is unruly hair." The grin returned as he stepped into her personal space once again.

Molly stepped back only to find the wall behind her. "Sherlock, this isn't nice. Okay, I was wrong. But you of all people know that I was just trying to be a good friend. I've been stuck here with nothing to do. I let my imagination get the better of me. I cocked it up and... and... I'm sorry!" Molly put her hands in front of her to stop his advance, which as it turned out, was a huge mistake. Her hands fell on his well-defined pectoral muscles as Sherlock put his hands on either side of Molly's head on the wall. She whimpered and bit her lip, keeping her eyes locked on his chest. _Do not look in his eyes_ , she told herself. _Don't look up!_

"Molly, look at me," he said in an even deeper voice than normal.

But she refused. She closed her eyes. Yet another mistake, as it turned out. Because suddenly she felt his breath on her neck.

"What's wrong Molly?" he asked then lightly pressed a kiss to her the skin just below her ear.

Suddenly she found that she was gripping two hands full of his tee shirt. "Umm..." Was all she managed before he gently nipped at her throat and moved his hands from the wall to grip her waist.

"God Molly!" Sherlock said. "You," He raked his nose up her neck ending at her jaw. "You smell amazing."

That was it! She had to stop him and his cruel games. "Please Sherlock, stop. I've learned my lesson!" She was nearly in tears, the combination of desire and fear – the utter torment was breaking her.

Sherlock jerked back, but didn't relinquish his hold on her hips. "What are you talking about? What lesson?"

Molly's hands dropped to her sides, she shook her head but kept her eyes averted. "I know I must have seemed silly trying to get you to talk about your... sexuality. But I was just trying to be a good friend. You've proved your point!"

Sherlock brought his hand up to Molly's cheek. He gently brushed away a stray tear that had escaped. "I'm so sorry, Molly."

Something in his voice brought Molly's eyes up to meet his. What she saw nearly took her breath away. In that moment Molly attempted to remember all the different versions of Sherlock she'd seen throughout the years. Many of them were disingenuous. Many of them were unkind, even cruel. But when Sherlock allowed his true self to shine through, it was bloody marvelous! This, she was certain, was one of those moments. His eyes were soft and pale (oh, and slightly dilated!). She had tried many times to attribute their ever changing colour to his moods. Perhaps this pale blue had something to do with sincerity. She dearly hoped so, because her heart, which had previously tried so desperately to let go of the maddening genius, was beating rapidly and holding on by a veritable thread.

"Of course you don't believe that I'm sincere. I've never..." he paused and bit his bottom lip. "Well, this is a better kept secret than my hair, isn't it?" He smirked as he brushed a piece of her hair, which was loose and still sleep tousled, behind her ear. "You see, I'd wanted to- planned to tell you when I came back. But you'd gone and gotten yourself engaged." He furrowed his brow. "Naughty." He leaned back down and whispered in her ear, "I thought I'd warned you about that, Miss Hooper."

His words sent shivers down Molly's spine and she wondered for a moment if she could orgasm from his voice alone.

He moved back slightly so he could look in her eyes. "I won't ruin the moment by rehashing everything, but suffice to say this last year, as you know, I've been a bit not good." He actually looked remorseful. "I have a great deal to make up for, Molly. I'd like to start right away; if that's something you're amenable to?"

Molly couldn't speak. Though she knew had to- she needed to find out exactly what he wanted from her. Just then a thought struck her. "What about Moriarty?" Sherlock didn't eat during a case, surely he wouldn't...

He raised his eyebrows, perhaps surprised that little Molly Hooper could form a coherent thought at this particular moment. "I solved it last night. Got home about an hour before you woke up." He smiled.

"What?"

"Yes, actually you put me on the right path." He finally released her and paced across the room, suddenly back in consulting detective mode. "I was certain that I'd eliminated everyone within the network. But, what about a family member? Suppose Dear Jim had an adoring niece or nephew? A cousin? A little brother hell bent on exacting revenge? That's where I was concentrating my search. I was still stumped as to why they weren't contacting me, playing the game as Moriarty so loved doing. But when you mentioned your blog and that you should maybe delete it, I remembered something. Jim from IT contacted you via your blog. That's how you two met." He paused.

Molly cringed, then nodded.

"On the off chance that this new player was, once again using _you_ as a means to get to _me_ , I checked it." He walked over to his laptop and pulled up her blog. "Take a look." He motioned to the still slightly stunned woman to join him on the settee.

Molly looked at the notes on the last blog entry. _Livin' with Jim's sloppy seconds. So sad. He always said you two were the same. I suppose I get it now. Come and play. You might LEARN something._ Then she saw another reply: _On my way!_

Molly shook her head. "Where?"

"My first case with John. Roland-Karr Further Education College." Sherlock closed the laptop. "Sean Doherty, Moriarty's first cousin, twice removed. They were roughly the same age, but went to different schools. Sean wasn't a part of the organization, that's why I was unaware of his existence. I imagine our consulting criminal didn't give him much thought at all. However, Sean worshiped Jim... from afar. He also spent the last three years building up a small and ineffectual group of thugs. Sean's specialty? IT, ironically. He created the hack to get my attention. Calling me back and saving my life. How did he know I was about to be sent into exile? He didn't. That was serendipity."

Molly finally found fault with his explanation, giving him an incredulous look. Sherlock Holmes didn't believe in luck, fate and least of all... _did he really just say serendipity?_

"What? Oh, fine. Occasionally these things... just sort of happen. At any rate, he had always planned on airing it on New Year's Day. Just so happened that I was leaving on my mission at the same time." He ended his explanation with a satisfied smile.

Molly took a deep breath, trying to process the story. "And I assume he's in custody?"

Sherlock nodded as he scooted closer to Molly on the sofa. "He and his merry band of misfits." He picked up her hand, turned it over and brought it to his mouth. "No more distractions." He kissed her palm, her wrist, her arm.

"What about the exile?" she said, trying to concentrate.

"My country was _so very_ grateful for the quick and discreet resolution of this new threat, and trust me when I say they were never really a threat at all, that I'm to be given a pardon." He graced Molly with a cocky grin. "I'm a free man."

Molly swallowed. "What is this?" she whispered. _A victory shag,_ she thought, still not allowing treacherous heart to hope for more. Even that seemed very unlikely, although Sherlock Holmes kissing her at all, seemed... preposterous.

He cupped her cheek with one hand and looked at her with again with those soft eyes and said, "An inevitability. And it should have happened a long time ago."

Molly nodded. She felt hypnotized. "This will shatter me, Sherlock. Tomorrow I'll wake up broken hearted."

He furrowed his brows. "Why on earth will you have a broken heart tomorrow?"

"Reality."

He shook his head. "The reality is, Molly Hooper, tomorrow I plan on waking up – rather late I'd imagine – as we are expected at the Watson's home for dinner tonight... that I now realise I forgot to tell you about." He looked a bit confused for a moment, but shook it off. "Considering that we'll be getting home rather late, and I will have to wait hours to take you back into that bedroom and make love to you again..." He rolled his eyes. "Why are we still talking?" He moved in to kiss her, but stopped. "You're crying again. What'd I do this time?"

Molly wiped the tears off of her face. "Make love? Bring me home?"

He rolled his eyes. "Indeed Molly. Because, since I obviously haven't made it clear, I do love you. And this is your home now."

Molly gasped and suddenly found that she'd launched herself at the detective, attaching herself to him and kissing him with all her might.

* * *

 _So, Sherl's got the fuzzies! As do I! I have to say, I'm speaking from experience here. If I don't use about twenty-five different products on my hair, I look like I'm (and I'm quoting a former boss of mine) an angry cave woman. I have 'special hair'._

 _Thanks for reading. What do we think about Sherlock's reveal?_


	3. Chapter 3

_Sorry for the wait, RL got in the way. I'm so glad no one tried to murder me for messing up Sherlock's hair. I promise I will make it all better! ; ) Also I love all the messages about hair woes!_

 _Below you will find smut. If you are not interested in reading sexy times, feel free to skip it. Not much in the way of plot here, just a lot of shenanigans. Plot resumes in chapter 4._

 _Thanking the lovely MrsMCrieff for all her work on this chapter (since I had to send it to her twice because I added another part at the last minute.) Any mistakes you find belong to me though._

 _I own nothing (except a bathroom full of hair products!)_

 _Enjoy! ~Lil~_

* * *

Now _this_ was more like it! All that talking had been so boring, well except explaining about how he'd solved the case, _that_ he had enjoyed. But kissing Molly - being kissed by her - was much more exciting and very, _very_ stimulating. It was even better than he'd imagined, (and he had spent an inordinate amount of time imagining this very moment.)

The last week and a half had been more difficult than he had expected. Molly's presence had been both calming and, somehow, jarring at the same time. Being around her seemed to centre him. He found that talking to her - bouncing information, clues, ideas off of Molly in his home worked just as well as it did in the lab at Barts. However, he also found that he was quite anxious to finish the blasted case and move their relationship forward, as he had wanted to do since he'd returned home so many months ago. Mycroft had all but promised him that with a hasty and discrete resolution of the _new threat_ , the powers that be could be persuaded to forgive his indiscretion with Magnussen. He would have not made his feelings known to Molly otherwise. Even he wasn't _that_ cruel.

Though he was always eager to finish the case, to solve the puzzle, this time he had had extra motivation. That extra motivation was currently sucking on his tongue. Molly's sudden amorous attentions were more than welcome. Her inability to comprehend his intentions, though not surprising, was a bit of a roadblock. No more roadblocks though it seemed, as Molly moved her mouth across his jaw, making a stop at his earlobe, then started nibbling on his neck as she scraped her nails down his back.

"Molly," he whispered in her ear. "I'd prefer our first sexual encounter to happen in a bed, rather than on my worn down settee." He stood up and shrugged off his dressing gown. Molly looked up at him through her eyelashes, her lips were red and swollen from kissing, her cheeks flushed. She actually looked shy for a moment. He took her hand; he was having none of that! "Come along, Molly." He led her into his bedroom, _their_ bedroom if he got his way, shutting the door behind him. No interruptions today– no Toby, no surprise visits from John, no Mrs Hudson – though she wasn't due back from her sister's until later in the evening. He'd even left his mobile on the kitchen table.

Once in the room he turned to face his pathologists to find that her shyness hadn't abated. "What? What's wrong?" He was confused. Everything had been going so well in the sitting room.

"Um, I had no i-idea. I, ah, well..."

He sighed. _How can she be so sexy and so fucking adorable at the same time_ , he wondered. "I couldn't care less about the state of your legs, Miss Hooper. I've never understood why women need to be hairless to be considered attractive." He advanced on her.

Molly giggled and held up her hands. "No, actually I just shaved my legs last night. Um, I ah... well..." She blushed even deeper. "Oh God... I'm wearing my laundry day knickers!" She immediately covered her face.

Sherlock was, admittedly, at a loss. "What?"

"Just let me go change my pants!" She started for the door, but Sherlock stopped her.

"You're concerned about your _knickers_? I fully intend for them to be gone before you give them another thought," he said as he grabbed for her hips.

Molly giggled and jumped back until she hit the door.

"Molly Hooper, hold still," Sherlock demanded as he finally got a hold of her hips, pinning her in place. "I don't care about your pants." He leant down and captured her lips with his, deftly dipping his tongue in to tangle with hers. He then took her hands, bringing them over her head easily holding both wrists in a single large hand. Molly whimpered and he decided that she was no longer concerned with the state of her pants. He brought his other hand down slowly, finally palming Molly's right breast through her tee shirt. _No bra, just as I thought_. He pinched her nipple as he bit her lip roughly before releasing her mouth and focusing on her lovely neck, sucking a mark that he hoped she'd proudly wear. He pulled back to inspect his work and say, "You have no idea what I plan on doing to you, Molly." He moved his hands to the hem of her shirt. "First, this comes off!" He pulled the garment up over her head. "Ahh, there they are," he said with a satisfied smile.

"I thought you found them to be..." she started.

"Perfect," he finished for her before taking an erect, dark pink nipple between his lips and rolling the other with his fingers. Molly didn't appear to be holding back, she was making the most beautiful sounds he'd ever heard. _Lovely,_ he thought. He didn't want her holding back. He greedily wanted every sigh, every moan, every...

"Oh God, Sherlock. Your mouth is amazing."

He chuckled then felt her bury her hands into his frizzy, unruly hair. He had a sudden and uncharacteristic moment of self-consciousness. _Odd._ Though, in fairness, he had always been funny about his hair. He hated his uncooperative curls and all the maintenance they required, that is until Molly took hold giving them a not-so-gentle tug then digging her nails into his scalp. At that moment any and all concern for his messy mane evaporated. He growled just before switching breasts, lavishing an equal amount of attention onto the other nipple. He released it with an audible pop then kissed his way back up her chest. When he reached her face once again he held it in his large hands. "You're so fucking beautiful, Molly." He kissed her again hearing a squeak escape as he attacked her lips.

Breaking the kiss Sherlock steadied himself placing his forehead on hers. "Listen, it's been, well... a very, _very_ long time since I indulged in this kind of behaviour. Also I've been thinking about having you..." He closed his eyes. "For years. And I fully intend for you to enjoy yourself. So, if you'll allow me..."

Molly still seemed to be recovering from his recent onslaught and not exactly grasping his meaning. She shook her head. "S-sorry... years?"

Sherlock chuckled. "Indeed." He pulled Molly away from the door and walked her over to the bed. He tugged her pajama pants down then knelt in front of her to help her step out of them. She appeared to still be in some sort of daze as nudged her to sit down. "Still confused?"

She didn't respond. Perhaps she was once again pondering the state of her pants. _Must distract her,_ he thought. "Molly," he said, his voice deep and breathy as he spread her knees slowly. He ran his hands up her thighs watching her shiver at his light touch. When reached her _laundry day knick_ _ers_ he gave her a sideways smile and asked, "Oh, what do we have here?"

Molly giggled, relaxing just as he'd hoped.

"Mmm, I like what I see," he said eyeing the enormous, beige briefs. They came up over her navel and he could tell that most of the elastic was warn out of them. He estimated that both he and Molly would have comfortable fit in them at the same time. He could also see at least one hole from his vantage point, at her left hip near the waist band. He stifled a laugh. They really were hideous. What wasn't the least bit unattractive though, was the damp spot he found forming.

"As lovely as they are, I'm certain I'll enjoy what's underneath even more." He patted her hip and she rose slightly as he hooked his thumbs in the atrocious fabric. Once removed, he tossed them behind his back (they'd find their way in the rubbish bin if he had his way). _Molly Hooper should only be clothed in the finest silks and lace_ \- later, he decided as he turned his attention back to the bounty in front of him.

Molly was staring down at him, a look of wonder and adoration on her sweet face. He placed his hands on her cheeks, bringing her in for another glorious kiss. Her lips, lips he had mocked so many times simply because he couldn't stop looking at them- thinking about them. She was always biting them with her perfect, white teeth... driving him mad. They tasted even better than he'd imagined.

And her tongue... her tongue was a wonder as it breached his lips over and over.

One day he had gone looking for her in the canteen. He had found her sitting alone eating yogurt and reading. She was so engrossed in her book that she dropped a dollop of yogurt on the inside of her wrist. Being Molly, instead of wiping it off with a napkin, she brought her wrist up to her mouth and licked... it... off. Somehow his mind slowed the scene down (and added music). He never deleted that moment. EVER.

He gave up asking her for assistance and went out to the alley to have a smoke.

Sherlock placed kisses across Molly's cheek and jaw. He licked and nibbled at her neck. He relished finally being allowed to touch and taste each and every part of Molly Hooper's lovely body; he was going to take full advantage of it. His cock throbbed and leaked as he made his way down her flat stomach. "God Molly, those clothes you wear do NOT do you justice," he mumbled into her sweet smelling skin.

Having teased them both enough, he gave her a little push and she happily reclined on the bed as he buried his face in her curls.

"Sherlock..." she moaned.

He looked up to see her hands fisted in the sheets. He used his thumbs to open her to him completely. _Oh, she's wet and so... pretty_. He dipped his tongue into her opening to get a taste of what he had craved for so very long. Molly bucked and cried out and he knew it wouldn't take much to make her come. He drove his tongue in deeper, essentially burying his face into her cunt. He pulled back and attacked her clit wrapping his lips around the bundle of nerves, rolling it, sucking it as he thrust two fingers into her centre. He felt her internal muscles shake and tighten just she drew a deep breath. Then...

"Ahhh yes, yeeees! Oh God that's ffffucking brilliant!" she screamed as she came. She moved her hands to his head, first firmly holding him in place, as if she were afraid he would stop, then tugging on his hair when she became too sensitive.

Sherlock worked her with his hand through her orgasm, as she thrashed and moaned... he couldn't take his eyes off of her. She was absolutely gorgeous in her ecstasy, but he needed to be inside of her... now.

He removed his fingers and licked them clean as she slowly recovered. Her eyes were closed and she was drawing deep, shuttering, breaths. He quickly removed his loose sleep pants and tee shirt. He leant over Molly and asked, "Are you back yet?" Before kissing her cheek sweetly.

"Oh. My. Goodness, Sherlock!" She reached for his face pulling him down to her, thus answering the question of whether or not she'd be willing to kiss him after what he'd just done. She not only kissed him but licked his lips clean.

Sherlock growled and deepened the kiss as his hips bucked almost involuntarily, thrusting his painfully hard cock into Molly's hip. "Christ Molly, I need you now!" he begged against her lips. He propped himself up to get a better look at her, hoping to see her just as ready as he was.

She didn't hesitate to turn on the bed, righting herself, giving them more room. Sherlock followed, then took himself in hand immediately slipping into her welcoming wetness. Yes, they should have had a conversation about contraception, and he probably should have made use of the box of prophylactics in the drawer to his left. But he was already aware of Molly's birth control regimen and he also knew that she was clean. Of course he was clean as well, but he shouldn't have expected Molly to trust him on that point. All of this was very important, yet paled in comparison to Molly's tight, wet heat.

"M-M-Molly," he stuttered as he thrust into her and she wrapped her legs around his hips, and dug her nails into his shoulders.

Molly arched her back and mumbled something about loving his cock, then she did this marvelous thing with her hips that felt so good Sherlock was certain his eyes rolled into the back of his head. He leaned down and bit onto the mark he'd previously made, trying to focus on something to prolong the experience because he was on the verge of completion already.

Then Molly, oh that wanton little vixen, she reached down and took hold of his arse cheeks in her surprisingly strong hands; followed by a demand for him to fuck her harder, faster. Well... that did it.

He pistoned his hips even harder as Molly met him thrust for thrust, calling out his name. He felt her walls tightening even further, fluttering against him. Then she bit down on his shoulder as her orgasm overtook her.

Six, maybe seven more thrusts and Sherlock was lost in wave after wave of sheer pleasure as he emptied himself into her. He stilled; his entire body tensing as he called out her name.

Coming down from his high only two thoughts occupied his normally racing mind: _she's tiny, don't crush h_ _er_ and _I_ _never want to stop feeling like this._ He had assumed it would be intense because of the sentiment involved, but he wasn't prepared for _how_ intense. Even though his previous experiences were foggy and in the very distant past, he did remember bits and pieces. And this was something that he couldn't even begin to classify with them.

Sherlock rolled over bringing Molly with him to rest in the crook of his arm. He kissed her forehead as they both caught their breath.

Finally Molly looked up, brushed the sweat soaked, still slightly frizzy hair off of his face and said, "Was that you way of securing my silence about your hair?"

* * *

After several hours of, quite frankly the most restful sleep of his life, Sherlock Holmes found himself in the curious position of having his hair washed by his lovely pathologists. It was magnificent.

"Lean back more, I can barely reach you," Molly demanded, sounding not the least bit put out.

Sherlock gladly complied. He couldn't get enough of her blunt nails scraping at his scalp. She'd already allowed him to wash her hair. He'd taken his time allowing the wet tresses slide to through his fingers. Molly's hair had always been a bit of a weak point for Sherlock.

At work she sensibly wore it up in a ponytail or plaited. But on the rare occasions she had worn it down throughout the years, he'd been able to more accurately commit its apparent texture and length to memory, noting when it had been trimmed. He lived in fear of the day she decided to cut it off. When she passed by him closely in the lab or the morgue he'd catch the scent of her shampoo, it changed through the years. His favorite was the coconut scented concoction he had just used on her.

Since she had moved into Baker Street she'd taken to wearing her hair down nearly all the time. It was terribly distracting.

Molly instructed him to rinse the shampoo out of his hair then she gently applied the conditioner. The effect was nothing short of spectacular. Her firm breasts pressed against his back, her fingers working his follicles... it was bliss. Suddenly she tapped his bottom.

"Budge," she said with a smirk. "I need to rinse."

The shower devolved into groping hands and lapping tongues once everyone's conditioner was rinsed, and would have gone much further had the water not gone cold causing Molly to squeal and jump out of the spray. They climbed out and toweled off.

"I want to watch," Molly said as she wrapped a fluffy towel around herself.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, not really sure what she was asking since he was still quite aroused and considering canceling their dinner plans and taking her back into the bedroom. "You... want to watch me..."

Molly's eyes widened and she giggled. "Oh, no... um, I meant I want to watch you do your hair." Then she bit her lip.

 _Damnit, not helping, Molly._ Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Fine, but it's not exactly crime solving, I must warn you."

He started gathering all the necessary implements. He took out the leave in conditioner, curl manager and frizz reducer (knowing it was possibly going to snow, and he should be prepared.) He applied all three in practiced and perfect proportions. He turned to check on Molly. She was sat on the edge of the tub, legs crossed... _And she is still biting her fucking lip._ _She's going to draw blood if she's not careful._

He shook his head as he got out his blow dryer and diffuser. He attached the diffuser to the dryer, and looked at Molly once again. Usually he let his hair air dry, but Molly seemed to be enjoying the process... really enjoying it actually, so he indulged her. He turned the dryer on low and started twirling strands of his hair around his fingers as he worked his way around his head. He didn't dry his hair completely, but when he was finished he looked much more like himself. After putting everything away, he turned back to Molly once more. She was standing this time.

"Can I touch it?" She sounded breathless.

He nodded.

Molly reached up and gently played with the curls at the nape of his neck. He instantly shivered. She was eyeing his hair and licking her lips.

"Molly," He paused and took a deep breath. "You have two choices. Either stop that and get ready for dinner at the Watson's. Or, and you should know I'm voting for this one, continue. I can send John a text."

Molly huffed, squeezed her eyes shut for a moment then walked out of the bathroom.

 _This is going to be a very short dinner party_.

* * *

 _Okay, so I had several requests to 'fix Sherlock's hair before they got down to business'. Sorry, I just couldn't. I already had the laundry day knickers/fuzzy hair situation all planed out. I like keeping them on equal footing. I hope that last bit satisfied everyone's need for Hot Sherlock Hair. ; )_

 _Thanks so much... Let me know what you think! ~Lil~_


	4. Chapter 4

_Here we are, chapter four. I love thanking people... it's one of my favorite things, so here goes. Thank you all for reading my story. I haven't written a multi chapter fic in an age and was very worried about how it would be received, but you wonderful people have been so kind and generous. Thank you for indulging me in my silly hair obsession. If you follow me on tumblr I'm considering posting a photo of myself in my full frizzy glory to celebrate the final chapter. I have to see if I have one that does it justice._

 _Thank you my dear friend MrsMCrieff. You've been encouraging, patient and incredibly helpful. And you always make me laugh... always! (I still take full credit for any mistakes... those are mine, got it?)  
_

 _I own nothing. Enjoy! ~Lil~_

* * *

As Molly and Sherlock sat in the back of a cab on the way to the Watson's house for a celebratory dinner, she couldn't help the bundle of nerves that had formed in her stomach. It wasn't Sherlock or his declaration that had her in knots. He had made his intentions very clear: he wanted her, he wanted to be with her, not just a one off, but an actual relationship. They'd have to discuss the "you'll live here, obviously!" moment they'd had just before walking out of the door, later, when they weren't on their way to visit his best friend.

Molly wasn't sure how others would perceive the change in their status. Sherlock had been harsh, critical and dismissive toward her during the first few years of their acquaintance, publicly, in fact. Though in fairness, he treated just about everyone like that. Then there was Reichenbach and her involvement in his fake death. Not to mention her engagement to Tom, which had only been over for a few months. Sherlock may not care about propriety, but she sure as hell did.

John and Mary were Sherlock's friends, not hers... not necessarily. Yes, she was fond of John Watson. Molly would even go as far as to say she cared about him, a great deal in fact. She cared about John because of what he meant to Sherlock. She had been genuinely shocked to have received an invitation to his wedding considering she'd lied to him for two years, even if it had been necessary to save his life and the lives of several others.

She had only spoken to him privately two times since the wedding, both times were about Sherlock. Once, on the day Sherlock was shot. Then, oddly, the day the papers came out with the story about his relationship with Mary's bridesmaid. She found it strange that John had sought her out to explain the ruse.

Though, now that she thought about it...

And then there was Mary. She didn't really know a thing about Mary Watson. She seemed nice enough and she clearly adored her husband. She and Mary had spoken maybe three or four times in total and never anything deep or meaningful. Sherlock was unclear about who else would be in attendance, and Molly wasn't keen on making some grand entrance.

She hadn't missed the look on Sherlock's face when she had emerged from the bedroom dressed in a turtle neck sweater dress, obviously covering the mark he'd made just hours before. He almost seemed disappointed.

Molly shook her head, it didn't matter. She wasn't ready to tell anyone, and that included the Watsons. How was she going to explain this to Sherlock? She'd spent years pining after him and now that they were finally together she wanted to keep their relationship a secret. He'd think she was completely...

"Molly," Sherlock broke her train of thought with his deep baritone. "You're worrying so loud, even our half-witted cabbie could read your thoughts if he stopped worrying about his wife long enough to pay attention."

"Oi!" the man shouted. "You still got about fifteen minutes to go. Wanna walk?"

Sherlock ignored the threat and continued his deduction looking up into the rear view mirror. "She's not being unfaithful, by the way. She's running a small brothel with her sister." The cab suddenly swerved. "Oh, don't worry. She's simply seeing to the books and medical needs of the ladies of the night. She isn't actually one of them."

Leaving the stunned cabbie to his thoughts, Sherlock turned to Molly and took her hand. "We don't have to tell anyone if you're not ready."

"I'm sorry. This is so new- it's amazing. But I-I just want to get used to... things. Also, a group setting? I'm not..."

"You don't like being the centre of attention. You say that as if I wasn't already aware." He kissed her knuckles. "We'll tell them when we're ready and not a moment sooner."

She couldn't help it, his understanding and gentleness overwhelmed her. She grabbed his face and pulled him down for a kiss. It was meant to be sweet and chaste, a _thank you_ for not pushing her into something she wasn't ready for. But things escalated quickly and soon they were making out like a couple of randy teenagers.

Seven and a half minutes later the cab stopped and they were forced to walk the remaining five blocks to John and Mary's house.

"I blame you!" Sherlock said, his arm around Molly's shoulder trying to warm her up. It was a chilly evening, but thankfully not bitterly cold and the snow had held off.

"Me? You called him half-witted! Then told him his wife was a madam."

"You were being irresistible and doing that thing with your tongue. I think he had forgiven me for the mild insult."

Molly gave him and incredulous look.

"Oh, so it's my fault that he's under the impression money actually _does_ grow on trees. Where did he think she got the money for his hair plugs?"

Molly just laughed and snuggled closer. "How on earth did you know, by the way? About the wife?"

"I saw the photo of her taped to the dashboard. I've met her. He's only recently become suspicious because of the change in his work schedule."

She stopped walking immediately.

"What?" Sherlock asked, turning around to face her.

"H-how? You've met her?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Really Molly? I meet all sorts of people in my line of work."

Molly continued to stare.

"A case, obviously. And I'll tell you all about it, when we're not standing out in the cold. You're teeth are starting to chatter, he said before taking her hand and continuing on their way.

* * *

John greeted them at the door, kissing Molly's cheek and taking their coats. He ushered them through the foyer them into the lounge. "Look who I found," he said announcing their arrival.

Greg glanced up. He was sitting having a heated discussion with Sally Donovan; she was perched on the arm of his chair and appeared altogether unimpressed. She immediately went back to her story, regaining Greg's attention. Mrs. Hudson, who had been staying with her sister since the broadcast (along with several of the British government's finest watchdogs), was sitting with Mike Stamford on the sofa. She smiled broadly at the pair and held up her glass of sherry.

Suddenly Mary appeared from the kitchen carrying a tray of nibbles and set it down in front of Mike and Mrs. H. She didn't seem to notice the new arrivals, who were standing next to each other but not touching.

Mrs. Hudson said, "Look Mary, Sherlock and Molly are finally here."

Mary smiled at the older woman, a smile that morphed into shock and awe in a millisecond as she looked between Molly and Sherlock. The events that followed seem to happen so fast, that later Molly would have to have Sherlock recall them to her to get an accurate description.

An excited squeak exited Mary's mouth followed by, "Oh my God!" Everyone in the room looked up. John turned back around from hanging up their coats to desperately try to get his wife's attention, but it was to no avail.

"You two shagged!" Mary exclaimed as a collective gasp erupted from the small group. Mary's hands immediately went to her mouth, she stood frozen. She stared wide eyed as if she couldn't believe what she had just said.

Molly looked around the room. Philip Anderson was suddenly there; coming out of the kitchen with a beer in hand and a giant smile on his, now, clean shaven face. Sally stared in disgust. Greg was rubbing his temples. Mrs. Hudson's expression was far too close to the one she had that awful Christmas. And Mike was nearly motionless, staring into the bean dip, as if it had answers.

John reached for her. "Molly..."

"Um, lovely party. I... just... need a bit of air." Then she turned and ran back outside, not even stopping for her coat.

Sherlock was furious. In hindsight, he should have sent a discreet text to John, warning him of the change in his relationship with Molly and that they weren't ready to disclose it just yet. But really, even _he_ hadn't anticipated Mary's reaction. Yes, she was nearly as good as himself at reading people, but she was normally much better at self-control.

Thankfully John stepped in before Sherlock completely lost it. "Hey, why don't I go talk to her?"

Mary looked like she was about to cry. "I'm so..."

Sherlock held up his hand. "Why? For God's sake, Mary. Why?"

"I don't really know, I just... I had a Sherlock moment?" she defended.

"Oh, so this is my fault?" he questioned with his hands on his hips. "No, Mrs. Watson. That was all you. Frankly I had assumed if anyone was going to _cock up_ my relationship with Molly Hooper, that it would have been me."

John put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "Nothing's cocked up. Everything's fine. Let me go talk to her. Try not to tear off anyone's head off whilst I'm gone, yeah?" He gave his friend a knowing look, then grabbed his and Molly's coats. With a deep breath he made his way outside to check on his best friend's girlfriend. He shivered before even opening the door. _That's going to take some getting used to_.

* * *

He found Molly sitting on the doorstep, her arms wrapped around her middle. He draped the coat over her shoulders then sat down next to her. "Mary really knows how to make an entrance, doesn't she?" He laughed.

Molly smiled, but didn't look up.

"Hey, I'm so sorry about that. She's a bit like Sherlock. She, ah, sees people... and things."

"Makes sense actually, you and her," Molly replied then she sighed. "I hate parties."

"You don't have a lot of luck with them, do you?"

Molly shook her head.

John's heart was breaking for the poor woman. It was bad enough she was in love with Sherlock Holmes... no, no that wasn't fair. John knew Sherlock's heart, had known for a while actually, and the man was truly, madly, ridiculously in love with his pathologists. She was embarrassed, yes, but this could be- would be salvaged.

"Molly, can I tell you a story?" he asked.

"I suppose."

"I should probably explain why I came to you the day tabloids reported Sherlock and Janine's relationship. But you're a smart woman; you've figured that out, I'm sure."

Molly finally looked up at the doctor. "He asked you, didn't he?"

He nodded. "He was actually nervous, tried to pretend he was doing it all for you. As if he was being chivalrous. _Molly will believe them,_ he said. _It will upset her and she's got enough to deal with at the moment._ Then he mumbled something about Meat Dagger and cursed me for making you do the drugs test. Sorry about that by the way. I shouldn't have..." He paused. "I was just so pissed off." He took a deep breath before continuing. "Anyhow, I know he thought he was revealing something to me that day. The poor sod, but I already knew."

"What?" Molly asked, her eyes wide and teary.

"Oh, I didn't figure it out. He's right about me not always observing." He smiled to himself as the memory came to him. "Mary. She told me after our wedding. She said that he was in love with you." He paused. "I told her she was crazy, of course, that Sherlock Holmes didn't love anyone. She said that that was absurd. The man had jumped from a building to save our lives, of course he loved us and if he loved us, then he certainly had the capacity to love you, Molly. Then she went on to describe his behaviour at the wedding, how he watched you while you were with Tom. She said he looked sad. Sad! I noticed, of course, that he seemed moody especially toward the end of the evening, and that he left early. But being the self-absorbed git that I am, I thought he was pouting about my marriage and the baby. He might have been, to an extent. But Mary explained that the reason he left without saying goodbye was that seeing you, happily dancing with your soon to be husband, at a wedding no less, was simply too much for his heart to take. Mary knew long before he asked me to talk to you, out of desperation, when his private 'for a case' relationship became public knowledge." He took her tiny, cold hand in his. "She's been pulling for you two, Molly. She's a big fan of yours. I promise she didn't mean to embarrass you. And if you give her a chance, I guarantee, you two will be great friends. Let's face it, you're dating Sherlock Holmes, you're gonna to need someone to talk to."

Molly was crying and laughing by the end of John's speech and he put his arm around her shoulder, pulling her in for a hug. "Please don't be embarrassed, Molly. Everyone in there loves you, at the very least because you put up with Sherlock's nonsense all the time. But mostly because you helped save us and are generally amazing."

"I'm not sure Sally is thankful for me saving Sherlock, Greg maybe, but Sherlock..."

"Maybe not, but Anderson's got a some kind of fan club going."

They both laughed.

"All right, stop pawing all over my Molly." A deep voice sounded from behind the pair stopping their amusement.

They broke apart and turned to Sherlock.

"Mary's still quite upset. You should go see to her before she breaks her waters," he said to John as he took Molly's hand, helping her stand. "Also do something with Anderson. He's going on and on about being right about... something. No idea what he's talking about. Why is he even here?"

John kissed Molly's cheek, patted Sherlock's shoulder then went back inside.

"Feeling better?" the detective asked.

"John Watson is a treasure."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Oh, he turned on the charm I see. Typical." He guided her inside and took her coat, tossing it down on a nearby bench. While still in the foyer he cupped her face in his hands. "Are you sure you're okay to stay?"

She nodded. "I'm fine. Still a bit embarrassed to have my sex life announced to a room full of people, but I'll live." She pulled herself up and kissed him. "Let's go in."

As they entered the lounge for the second time, Mary slowly approached Molly. "I'm so, so sorry..."

Molly silenced the pregnant woman with a warm hug. "It's fine. You have a wonderful husband, who insists that we become friends. And I think that's a fine idea." Molly released her and gave her a sweet smile.

Mary laughed as she wiped away a tear. "I'm blaming pregnancy hormones."

Sherlock cleared his throat just as the front door opened once again, but he ignored it. "If anyone else makes Molly Hooper cry this evening, be prepared to have your deepest, darkest secrets divulged to everyone in attendance. Do I make myself clear?" he announced.

* * *

Mycroft Holmes stood in the foyer listening as he removed his gloves, a sinister smiled forming on his lips. Having no idea of what had transpired prior to his arrival or the change in his brother's relationship with Miss Hooper, he could hardly contain his glee. He considered that, statistically speaking, the most likely person to cause Molly distress would indeed be his little brother. _And when you do, I'll pull out my photos of 'Disco Sherlock'. Ah, perhaps this_ _evening will be far_ _more enjoyable that I had first anticipated,_ he thought as he slowly walked into the party.

* * *

 _Thanks again for reading. I'd love to hear your final thoughts! Come find me on tumblr, same name._

 _**So, because MrsMCrieff asked it and I can't refuse her... I'm sharing the biggest typo I made (this time). In that last sentence I originally typed that Mycroft '...slowly wanked into the party.' Yep, I did that. I do have a fondness for Myke... Hmmmm! At any rate. There, I shared it! Hope you're happy, Mrs! (I'm pretty sure I could hear her laughing all the way from England!)  
_

 _Until next time! ~Lil~_


End file.
